


THIS.DIE();

by Reavv



Series: Ficlet Collections and WIPS [2]
Category: Homestuck, Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Alternia, Crossover, Dimension Travel, Gen, Multi, POV Second Person, Pesterlog(s) (Homestuck), Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Post-Scratch (Homestuck), Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2020-10-10 14:20:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20529449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reavv/pseuds/Reavv
Summary: Chapter 1: Breach of Contract: The villain Loki is being put on an intergalactic trial for crimes against the nine realms. All is proceeding according to plan, until a smart dressed human shows up talking about a contract with something called Horrorterrors.Chapter 2: Reductive Reasoning: They won the game, but it took a while for their new universe to load in. And when it did, they weren't expecting the end result to be so...similar.Chapter 3: End of the World I guess: When gods go back in timeChapter 4: Space, Time, and Everything Nice: Alternia is still alive and kicking the rest of the galaxy around, but not for long if the Skiaisphere has anything to say about it





	1. Breach of Contract

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I got back into Homestuck. No, my other fics aren't abandoned.
> 
> All of these snippets are pure self indulgence and should be taken with a grain of salt. Highly AU

They schedule the trial on Earth, as a sort of neutral ground. Considering Loki tried to conquer it with an army and killed a couple hundred people in a span of a year or two, that says a lot about his stance with the rest of the galaxy.

They host it in Switzerland, for some ounce of irony.

It’s pretty much guaranteed to be a shitshow no matter what they do, considering they have representatives and lawyers crawling out of the woodwork of the intergalactic tree they all supposedly live in. And they don't have the luxury of a single planetary monarch, so of course every country and their interests wants to be there too, even if they don't have a stake in the actual trial. And that means that there’s about a hundred and one militaries there as well, and considering most of them are at war with each other, that’s a barrel of gunpowder sitting pretty just under a lit cigarette.

The politics of everything means that everything from location to catering to elevator music choice has the possibility of being an excuse for the next World War, and SHIELD is running itself ragged making sure that doesn’t happen.

The only upside of having a galaxy’s worth of lawyers in a single room is that one of them offers the use of some sort of universal translator, and it’s common enough that no one argues. At least this way they cut down on having actual human (or alien) translators in the room, too.

And then there’s the press, whole countries’ worth. Tony would have preferred there not to be any, honestly. And maybe that’s out of character for him, but they’re already spread thin as it is, and the press is much more dangerous than a few huffy ambassadors.

So there’s the Avengers, and SHIELD. And about two hundred human representatives, although luckily they’re able to convince most of them to participate through hologram instead of packing in that many bodies into one room. Various handpicked press agencies. There’s the fifty or so alien representatives. And of course, there’s the Asgardians.

And through it all, Loki, shackled and magically gagged with some sort of device that lets him speak—only the truth, and only when asked a question.

Going down the laundry list of the galaxy’s grievances for the dude is starting to look like it will take more than a three-day trial, and it becomes immediately clear that whatever hatred the Earth might have with the guy, they don’t hold a candle to most of this stuff. Tony can see that shock more than a few of the human representatives, and quietly huffs a laugh to himself.

They’d been even more surprised to hear that Earth’s own charges for Loki were considered non-existent on a galactic scale.

Of course a nigh-immortal supposed god of lies and mischief would have made enemies out of the rest of the universe. Earth—Midgard—was seen as so backwater that other sentient beings consider them closer to bumbling children. Or maybe more like some clever animals doing tricks. What's a few animals killed in the grand scheme of things? They care more that Loki insulted the arch-duke-king what’s-his-name three decades ago by pretending to be his wife on the wedding day and then poisoning the guests so as to steal some sort of alien holy grail.

Turns out, most high-tech alien civilizations are arrogant pricks, and it just tickles Tony funny to see that for once his head isn’t the most inflated in the room. Loki’s charges are rarely about death tolls or war crimes—that doesn’t matter to creatures who live millenia and wage war at the drop of a hat. We’re talking about the sort of societies that have developed interstellar travel and still run around hitting things with swords and hammers, after all.

No wonder Loki is so batshit insane.

Anyways. Besides an assassin or forty, the first day passes in a haze of stress and adrenaline and existential horror. Tony pumps himself up on some of SHIELD’s high-tech all-nighter definitely-not-Pepper-approved go-go-juice and works at untangling some of the unforeseen consequences of the whole affair.

He knows SHIELD is doing constant damage control, but having it kicked in the teeth that Earth is considered too dumb to even offer their own grieviences is fucking bullshit, and Tony’s pride ain’t standing for that.

He’s just on his way to one of the conference rooms not currently under electronic blackout to do some digging when he hears the voice. Young, feminine, with an American accent—or more specifically, an absence of an accent that Tony knows to be an American accent. It has a vague hint of the East Coast to it, but in a way that suggests it’s been scrubbed clean or polished to be as sophisticated as possible. He’d know—part of his boarding school was dedicating to teaching the up-and-coming socialites how to sound as fucking snobbish as possible. 50/50 percent chance it’s either a press member or one of the aliens.

He slows down, hands shoved into his pocket, and debates kicking whoever it is out versus ignoring the rules saying he can’t just turn off the electronics block. Would he rather have to talk to one of the stuck up assholes who keep calling Earth quaint or would he rather have SHIELD on his ass for a security breach.

“—your Freudian desire for proboscis is noted and notarized in triplicate, but as it stands it has very little on the current situation I am embroidered in. I will note your brotherly worry down as satisfactory, and pretend you did not revert to pre-teen word play in an effort to hide your feelings, as that has been an issue we have excised from your psychology for many a year now. Unless there is something else that is on your mind, Dave?”

Tony frowns. The cadence is full on alien snob, but he’s pretty sure none of the alien representatives would have so mundane a name as Dave. They go more for the sort of names that have consecutive consonants or an overabundance of apostrophes, to be as confusing as possible.

He turns the corner. There’s a woman standing there, back to him. She’s wearing a two piece business suit in black, tailored, with a pink-purple silk scarf draped over her neck. Her blond hair is cut in a smart bob, and combined with the smartphone glued to her head, he’d make an educated guess she’s not one of the aliens.

“You all worry too much,” the woman says, cocking a hip.“This isn’t a Jack situation. I have some amount of responsibility to see the contract fulfilled, considering my history, and you know as well as I do that none of the others would be as suited for the task.”

There’s silence for a beat or two, and Tony debates interrupting. Technically he should—considering the media circus this whole trial has been, they haven’t outright banned communication, but it has been heavily disapproved. But then again, Tony isn’t one for staying in the lines.

He leans back against the door instead and waits.

“I’m starting to believe you are using your worry for me as a distraction from your own problems, dear brother. Hmm? No, things here are fine. The trial appears to be running smoothly, and the amount of odd personalities in attendance makes my own quite understated. I am somewhat sad that Jake could not join me, his reactions to some of the aliens would be quite humorous. Ah—although it is perhaps Jade’s reaction to seeing Iron Man in the flesh that would be the real soap opera. Oh, yes, do tell her I will attempt to procure an autograph, it would be the perfect ironic souvenir. Mhm. Love you too, Dave. When you are ready to talk about whatever it is that is on your mind, you know when to find me.”

Tony feels his eyebrows rise just a bit. The woman simply ends her call and then spins with a graceful step, looking unsurprised to see him there.

“I see the reports of your voyeurism are not unfounded, Mister Stark,” she says with a small smile. Her lips are black, and her eyes are bright pink-purple. He feels his own blink.

“I would hate to disappoint my fans,” he says after a beat when it becomes obvious she’s only going to smile at him.

“That would be a true travesty,” she agrees, lips curling higher. There’s something hiding in her otherwise genial attitude.

Tony pushes away from the door and further into the room, passing her with a wave of his hand. Jarvis immediately pings him with about thirty alerts once the connection snaps back into place. That’s another reason to be done with the fucking travesty of a trial—although the electronics blackout only affects non-SHIELD or Avengers gear, it is greatly restrictive. No real internet connection, only a barren intranet for the current crisis. Jarvis runs fine without the internet, technically, especially since Tony has satellites for this exact reason. But it’s an annoyance, and some things can sneak past when he doesn’t have all the resources he’s used to.

Like what looks like a good fourteen SI updates and twice that of some minor crisis happening in New York over a bunch of religious folks preaching that Loki’s trial is evidence of the end times, supposedly.

“Well,” he says, turning around, “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation, and if you are looking for an autograph I have maybe five minutes free right now. The next two days are going to be even busier.”

The woman stares at him curiously, lips still gently curled on her face.

“Well, I would hate to let down a friend,” she says eventually, nodding.

They go about the business of autographing in a pleasant, hasslefree way, and he’s glad for once that there’s not going to be any weird fan interaction involved. Would make sense, if the autograph is for someone else. He can even do it with his nose buried mostly in his tablet, and she doesn’t look the least bit offended.

“Good luck,” she says after, sweeping the newly signed Physics Today magazine under one arm. “And terribly sorry for any grievances we’ll be giving you.”

“Always happy to help a fan—wait, what.”

He looks up from where Jarvis is describing the situation in New York and blinks. She’s not there.

—

They’re halfway through the second day, and the listed crimes just keep getting more and more ridiculous. He thinks he sees the woman in the crowd at one point, talking with one of the Asgardian delegates, and blinks. The next second she’s gone again, and the delegate is turning to someone else.

He reminds himself to do a bit of digging on who she is, just in case she’s going to be one of those “looking for revenge” types they keep having to arrest for trying to kill Loki while he’s chained up. She doesn’t look like the “trying to start an intergalactic war” types, so he figures it would have to be personal.

Another alien steps up to start listing all the ways Loki has fucked their kingdom—sometimes literally—and he mostly forgets about her.

—

The day passes, him and Steve have an argument that mostly boils down to Tony accidentally comparing Loki’s crimes to Barnes, and he ends up falling into his assigned bed in a haze of anger and cheap champagne instead of being productive. He’s been so good this month too, but looks like sobriety will have to wait another day.

—

It’s another day, and he’s regretting the champagne. They stop a minor invasion of some kind of sentient bug-cat people who say Loki once ate their star or something, and who try to literally blow up the building with everyone inside.

One of the Asgardian delegates gets into a fist fight with a member of the press. Something about the semantic difference between passive and non-passive tense when describing crime? Tony regrets asking.

—

He takes a midnight flight over to New York to support the people quelling the religious riots and has to take the suit in for repair because some lucky bastard somehow was able to weaponize a Bible and a box of those consummation crackers.

—

It’s day five and it doesn’t look like the trial is going to slow down any. He’s glad it’s mostly a sham and more for the Asgardians to strut their stuff and mend some bridges, because he knows actual trials can take months and even years. This one was supposed to be a couple days and then Loki would get locked up, except this time with a few other punishments attached from the other worlds. Considering the nature of the aliens involved, Tony fully expects it to go one way—horrible mythology punishment of eyeballs constantly melting, or, something really ineffective like having his hair cut. Hair is important to Asgardians or something?

Anyways, it’s taking longer than it should for a sham trial, and the assassinations and plots haven’t stopped yet.

He really wishes he had a drink that was a little stronger than cheap champagne, or less dangerous than the alien honey-wine the Asgardians are fond of.

—

The trial takes so long one of the members of the press is caught in bed with one of the aliens. Not the same two who fought earlier, luckily, but then it turns out that in the alien’s culture that means they need to get married so now the Avengers have been volunteered to make sure no one tries to kill them in the meantime. Because that’s also a tradition. Attempted murder before weddings.

Great.

—

It’s day ten. Tony is done with the trial. Steve is done with the trial. Natasha fucked off four days ago. Bruce wasn’t even invited. The various press members, human representatives, alien representatives, and other busy bodies all look tired with the whole affair too. One of the alien lawyers even admitted to not having any great deal of crimes to list, and that they were going to back out of the proceedings in an effort to keep it running smoothly.

If this is a tactic from Loki to get pardoned out of sheer tedium, it’s working. The man can talk. And even though the gag stops him from lying, that doesn’t mean the truth is necessarily all that easy to swallow or deal with. Many marriages seem likely to get broken up after this when it turns out a lot of the “Loki seduced my” stories turn out to be more “your wife/husband/partner/enemy heard tale of my exploits and cornered me in a dark alley and said their husband/wife/partner/enemy couldn’t satisfy a sexual partner if they came equipped with instructions.”

Tony’s almost jealous. Then again, he’s not an insane megalomaniac with a brother complex, so he guesses he got the long end of the stick.

—

“Ok, that appears to be the last accusation,” the SHIELD agent currently holding court over the...court says. Tony glances up from his game of solitaire and blinks. Sure enough, there’s no more aliens standing on the prosecutors side of the room.

“The Jury will then adjourn to—excuse me?” the SHIELD agent slash judge says. Tony is already assembling the suit around him, as the woman from days ago steps forward. That’s a move they’ve seen one-too-many wannabe vigilantes use.

“You must pardon me,” the woman says, seemingly unphased by the amount of guns and spears and other tech now aimed her way. “But I have come with one last bit of evidence to put forward for this trial. Loki himself can attest to this evidence, and seeing as he is magicked to speak only the truth, he would be the best verification that I mean no harm.”

“Who are you?” and that’s Nick Fury, popping out of the woodwork at even the vaguest scent of mystery.

“Rose Lalonde. A writer for some sort of dark fantasy series, supposedly,” Tony says through the distorted voice of Iron Man. He’d looked her up days ago and mostly forgotten. She hadn’t seemed that interesting. A PHD in Psychology and then a career as a fiction author. He’d figured she was here with one of the media agencies for some reason.

“Dr Rose Lalonde,” the woman corrects with a smile, “but I am here not on my own behest. I have come as a representative from _The Outer Gods_, the dark beings known as _Horrorterrors_. They cannot be here themselves for obvious reasons, but they wish to bring justice to the accused in the matter of a breach of contract.”

There’s a confused look on the gathered representatives and lawyers, although weapons sag a tad. This wouldn’t be the first last minute addition to the prosecutors side of things. But that doesn’t explain why a human would be the supposed representative, and a quick glance around confirms his suspicion that none of the aliens recognise these supposed Outer Gods.

His eyes catch Loki’s, siting centre stage in shackles. He obviously doesn’t respond, since at no point was a question asked, but his eyes are wide in shock and what colour remained from him has drained, paling him until he looks more like the absence of colour than any real skin tone.

He’s not the only one to notice.

“You recognise this girl?” Fury asks, stomping over.

“No,” Loki says, voice somewhat strangled. That’s maybe the shortest answer they’ve gotten yet, which just gives credence to the fact that something she said was true.

“But you do recognise the name of these, what, horrortales?” Tony asks, letting his suit fall. He keeps it half-activated though, revealing only his head and face.

“Horrorterrors. Yes.” And he doesn’t say anything more, just presses his lips tight against the magic.

The crowd shifts.

“Well, go on girl. What’s this evidence?” Fury snaps, waving the SHIELD agents off.

Dr Lalonde continues smiling and takes out what looks like a thick stack of parchment, yellowed with age.

“If I may?” she asks to judge, who hesitantly nods at Fury’s glare.

“A few years ago—or three millennia ago, depending on how you count—an Asgardian fell into the void after letting go from a broken Rainbow Bridge. This part of the story I am sure you are aware.”

Thor stirs. The poor man had fallen into something of a fugue state when confronted with all the worlds who wanted to kill his brother. Or maybe it was just the descriptions of all the seductions.

“He did not let go,” he says, although his voice is absent from any real anger.

“An act of self-sacrifice is neither laudable nor pitiable, but the semantics of this mean little. He fell into the void, which exists between solar systems and apart from the regular space and time. This void is considered inhospitable and desolate. This is correct. Most would die in the void, even with a Jotun body. But the Liesmith was knowledgeable of the void, and in his panic attempted to use that knowledge to travel, as he had before, with his own magicks. He was in pain, however, from the fall, and he did not specify his destination. He simply wished to be elsewhere.”

“Is there a point to this?” Fury asks before Tony can.

“I’m sure your readers would love whatever pretty tale your spinning, but it has been thirteen days. We ran out of time ten days ago,” Tony adds, not one to be outdone in sass.

“Believe me, this prologue gives important context to the series of events that have lead us here. It was this attempt to travel that brought him to the attention of the Outer Gods. For you see, his desire to go elsewhere combined with his intense pain and mental anguish powered his magicks to a degree he’d not felt before—he traveled elsewhere, but it was an elsewhere held together through thin strands of memory and the very code of this universes.”

She pauses.

“A gateway, of sorts. One rarely used. In it lived only one race of beings, although calling them alive would be misleading. These beings found within their home the dying Liesmith and at first paid him no mind. Their days of meddling had long passed. But the Liesmith took note of them, and soon was made aware of the mistake he had made. For you see, nothing mortal may live in the Furthest Ring, but nothing may die, either. The rules that govern those actions had been deleted from the space in which the Outer Gods exist, as a safety measure from a past death. Instead, he found himself in somewhat of an in between state. Neither dead, nor alive. His only company a race of beings so old their mode of speech would send him into a cycle of death and not death for a few centuries. And, whether he wished for death or not by falling from the Rainbow Bridge, he decided he did not wish for this fate. And so a bargain was struck.”

Here she presents the pages once again. One of the SHIELD agents hesitantly steps forward to take it.

“The bargain was thus: the Horrorterrors would kill him in a matter still available to them. In exchange, he would return to them after his awakening and deliver them an item of great power. This item would strengthen their corroding pocket of space, so that they may comfortably live there for another universal iteration. They did not propagate, after all, but the future held for them a seed that might bloom into a new Outer God. They wished to have the space necessary for this child, but could not do so with their current means.”

“Wait, wait, hold up. You’re making no sense,” Tony says, letting the rest of his armour retreat.

“My brother is clearly not dead,” Thor agrees, looking just as confused.

Dr Lalonde nods.

“Pardon me, I am used to somewhat pedantic storytelling. Let me attempt to be more plain. The Horrorterrors killed his sense of self, his identity. This solved the issue of pain for him, as the being that was Loki no longer existed, even if a Loki still lived. To do this, they crafted what was once called a Quest Bed. Usually, the process of a Quest Bed is convoluted and only arises at the end and beginning of a universe. But the Horrorterrors, being extremely old and powerful, and living in a space set apart from time and space, were able to create a sort of memory copy of this construct, well enough to fool the laws that govern it. Once created, it was a simple act of killing the vessel that held the self on top of it—a ritual sacrifice, if you will. This done, the Liesmith was able to leave the Outer God’s home, and start on filing his end of the bargain.”

“So let me know if I’m getting this right. Loki here fell into some sort of pocket dimension that held what—some sort of race of eldritch gods? And somehow died while not dying, in exchange for being a courier?” Tony interrupts, leaning forward. “You realise that makes no sense.”

“You do not need to believe me. You can simply ask the accused. He cannot lie, after all. It is your own oversight that you did not afford the prosecution with the same privilege, and now much sieve the truth from the lies from it,” she says, expression not shifting an inch.

Tony pauses. They wanted to, of course, but none of the delegates would agree to something like that. They all appreciated their secrecy too much to risk it on a truth spell.

“Perhaps it would be better if the accused explained the events in his own words,” the judge proposes, looking towards Fury.

Fury for his part has his arms crossed and is glaring at Dr Lalonde like he can crack her open and see her secrets that way. It’s a very Fury look. He eventually waves a hand to the judge and nods his head.

“Then, Loki, what exactly happened after you fell from the Bifrost?” the judge says. Tony preemptively winces. Questions like that are likely to result in a technically accurate but obfuscating answer.

“I hit a pocket of dead void,” Loki says, voice slightly dead.

The room stops.

Up till now, Tony and he assumes the rest of the room—even Fury—had been treating this new representative similarly to the previous ones. Throughout the trial, Loki had been at once truthful and unhelpful, seemingly amused with the proceedings. He’d been untouched by the accusations. But something about this story seems to have hit him, where all the others had slide off his smug face.

“I hit a pocket of dead void,” Loki continues, “and it burned.”

—

The void burned as it never had before. Not so much a temperature as a lack of one. And that would be sensible, since that is in essence the description of void. But you had traveled through the void many times previously, even if most of the time it was for but a brief moment between one place and the next.

The void you are used to was cold, yes, but it did not burn. It would at most brand you for a day or two with some phantom touch of radiation, but your magic protected you from most of its effects.

You attempt to flee—an instinctual reaction. You did mean your descent, but now that you are in its clutches, you find yourself scrambling for an exit.

You find none.

The dark you are in is littered with nothingness. Not even the remnants of dying stars accompanies you here. You do not feel the edges of Yggdrasil at the edge of your being like you would normally.

You are lost.

Blind and deaf and numb and burning and lost.

How long does it last? You are not sure. The pain dulls your sense of time. It could be years, or simply seconds. But eventually what remains of your eyes settle on something in the distance.

It is a great, expansive eye. It blinks curiously down at you, followed by another, and another, and another, and another, and another, and another, and another, and another…

The eyes open, one after one, growing in number in an impossible manner, as if the stars in a night sky were replaced by eyes now trained on you. Tendrils of inky black exist between the eyes, as much as anything exists here. You see the glimpse of what might be a beak, or a mouth, or a maw, or a row of serrated teeth splattered with the blood of galaxies.

It is hard to tell.

The eyes peer down at you.

And then turn their gaze, uninterested with the speck of dust among their far flung abode. You feel a crushing sense of despair. You can feel the power in this thing, whatever it is. Creature, act of nature, magic turned monster. You know if it leaves you, you will see nothing like it ever again. It will only be the void, and you.

You attempt to yell after it.

This is your first death, in this void. The creature makes what you would now describe as an inquisitive hum in response, and you feel as your body is crushed under its vast echoing sound.

Your death does not give you respite, as no sooner than your body collapses under the effects, you wake again.

The creature is still there. You realise you are not sure if it is a single creature, or a multitude. You think you are starting to differentiate silhouettes in the dark.

Years pass in this manner. You cannot move. You cannot heal. You cannot die. You are held captive by the dead space around you and the fleeting attention of creatures too vast to comprehend.

You dream, sometimes.

It is in this dream that you meet her for the first time.

She is a strange creature, although much more knowable than your other companions. You do not recognise her people—you know many a horned species, but none with such slate grey skin or insect-like wings. She smiles wide at each introduction, seemingly unbothered by the dead void she stands in.

She explains, where the terrors cannot.

You are in a bubble of space created by the progenitors of a universe many-times-over. They exist in their own memories, as sleeping tyrants whose own thoughts continue to power their existence. You do not belong here, cannot belong here. Your code does not mesh well with the code of this space, and it will continue to chip at you over and over.

She seems neither sad nor happy about this. She tells you death isn’t so bad, in dreams. But that you will not be afforded death unless you match your code to the space you now occupy. This is because, she explains, the dead void you are in will eventually overwrite you completely, and you will cease to exist. Even the self known in others’ minds will be gone. Your allies, your enemies, the family that you discarded—you will be no more to them. They will forget you completely.

You will not be afforded an afterlife. Not even one in memories. You will just cease.

This scares you, where your supposed death does not. You have always been Loki, even when you are not. You know yourself, and with everything you have lost, you have never lost that.

She comes back, dream after dream.

Eventually, she comes back with an offer. The terrors have seen your end, she says, and though they care not for one single memory in a long running parade of them, they have seen something in you that interests them. They offer a bargain.

In another world, you would meet something they called The False God. It will break you, until you become its puppet in a quest of power and death. You will be sent with an army to a world to conquer it, and fail.

But in this failure you will come into possession of important information. The Aspect Stones, the Outer Gods say, are a symptom of a glitched session that should not have been. There are six, although twelve is the number that should be. The six that are currently known hold immense power, especially combined. They have the potential to rewrite reality itself.

But their true purpose is even greater.

The False God wishes to possess them. The Outer Gods wish them in the hands of those who would eventually need them.

You will find them, and you will bring them here, to the dream, so that they too might sleep and create a timeline for that eventuality. This will strengthen the dead void against the erosion, and prepare it for the next seed.

If you agree to do this, they will change your code so that it is not anathema to the void. You will reside in the bubble, dead but not, and you will send your “self” to the reality you remember. You will fall into the hands of the False God, and though it will think you broken, you will instead work to bring the stones it desires back here.

Once done, the “self” and the code that comprises you will merge again, and you may choose to continue as you are or fall into an everlasting dreaming.

You accept, of course. You have no other option besides a slow deletion from reality.

And so you are killed on the bed the terrors dream for you, and wake in the hands of a Titan.

You do what you must. You pretend loyalty. You invade a world, fail, conveniently lose one of the stones in a matter that you cannot be faulted for. You let yourself be captured to find another.

At night, the terrors whisper to you.

One, two, three, four, five, you find them. You steal them. You murder for them. You bargain and trade. Still the whispering does not stop.

Where is the sixth, you ask, over and over, but the answer never comes. Their voice was never intended for mortal ears, the girl once said. You wonder of your mortality. Is that one more thing deleted from you by the dead void?

Eventually you become apathetic to your quest. You use one of the stones to go back in time and warn your past self to the terrors. You hope that he will travel through the void in a different manner when falling and not fall into their lair.

But instead he does not fall at all, and is instead tried for treason by the people. Oh, his family tries, but they are just two on a world of gods.

You go back again, less far. You warn yourself mere moments before the fall. This version of you succeeds in arriving elsewhere, but finds himself in the clutches of the Titan sooner. The Earth is conquered, and the stone retrieved. He cannot stop the Titan without the gifts of the terrors and dies by the Titan’s hands in his attempt.

You go back again.

And again.

Eventually the girl visits in another dream.

Time is tricky, she tells you. All the alternate timelines that are doomed exist whether we are aware of them or not, and you can never be sure if you are in a timeline that will continue existing, or if you are simply another dead Dave. What does that mean, you ask confusedly.

It means, she tells you, that your attempts to travel back are futile, because you may hold the stone but you do not control the aspect of time. You would probably be a Space player, she muses. Or perhaps Mind. It doesn’t really matter, she concludes. Your attempts are fruitless, and will only result in more dead timelines.

She says she’ll give you a hint for the last stone, and even give you some help in going back in time for it. She is a Time player, after all.

And so you go, finding yourself in a timeline much different than you are used to. The Loki that existed here died not that long ago, but it is easy to take his place. You gather the stones you are aware of. You search for the last one, and determine its location. But before you are able to retrieve it, you are embroidered with whatever drama your other-self was apart of and find yourself caught by Asgardians who wish you tried under intergalactic laws. You could flee, you suppose, but you quickly realise the crimes you are being accused of are both hilarious and disturbing.

You decide to stick around for the entertainment.


	2. Reductive Reasoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The game spits you out like some sort of Teletubbies pink slime grinder, all anti-climatic and shit. You’ve won, for a twisted definition of winning, and now look where you are. 
> 
> Pretty much where you were yesterday, actually.

The game spits you out like some sort of Teletubbies pink slime grinder, all anti-climatic and shit. You’ve won, for a twisted definition of winning, and now look where you are.

Pretty much where you were yesterday, actually.

This new reality is tame shit compared to the pants craping existence of being all those dead Daves and also being on the run from a rabid dog for three years. It’s got planets, some galaxies, more meteors than you want to shake a sausage at, and it’s own little like, hodge-podge civilization.

You’re fucking proud of that civilization, to be fair. It’s got the best bit of you all, with minimal fuck ups. Plus, it’s practically governed by the Mayor, and the Mayor is hot shit, so you know it has to be good.

The thing is. The thing is, none of you expected to keep your godtiers when you joined your new glorious existence. You figured that would be a game thing—gone as soon as the game is. But none of you had the Time (hah) to stop and think about the fact that the game is existence, and existence is the game. It doesn’t stop. It just continues, on and on, changing shape and code but never really pausing.

So, maybe a reset should take away your powers, but you’re, well. You. You fucking made this new existence—you’re not just godtier anymore.

You’re Gods. Capital G-O-D. The fucking messiahs weep at your presence.

But it takes a while for that to really sink in. First you have to have your well deserved mental breakdowns, pretend to be fine for a few years as you get to know your cool new Earth 2.0. Continue counting Time like it’s this metronome in your head, a steady 2-4 count— 13,203,850,479 years, 8 months, 14 days, 8 hours, 24 minutes, and 19 seconds since the universe was created in chronological terms.

43 years,1 months, 23 days, 2 hours, 59 minutes, and 1 second in your own Time.

A lot of the humans look like colour-swapped yous, which is weird, although not as weird as seeing all the weird troll variations that pop up too.

Carapacians and consorts have a lot less defining features at least, so it’s not so off-putting, but it all takes some getting used to. Almost as much getting used to as the whole Royalty thing.

But you digress.

You keep your powers. You still age, for a while. But at some point it stops—you would know. Time progresses but it’s like there’s this void around you that keeps you untouched. Unmoored. And it’s not just those of you with godtiers. Even Jane’s Dad is frozen. Even the Mayor, and that weird firefly that follows him everywhere.

The aging only seems to touch those who are still adolescents: you and the other beta/alpha kids continue growing until you plateaux at around twenty-five—which thank god you’re not stuck at hormonal sixteen and all the gross puberty that came with that. Even the trolls age, turning into these like, butterfly cocoon things and getting dissolved into goop, only to burst out a lot bigger and with completely black skin. You try not to think about it.

So. You’re all adults now. You have lives, of a sort, doing shit like delegating to minions and getting roped into religious ceremonies by said minions. You hang out, catch up, try not to panic if someone sleeps in and doesn’t show up that day. You’re all squarely in codependent party town and even the people you should absolutely hate you keep turning to, to make sure they’re still there.

And then, when it looks like things are going fine-fucking tastic, someone has the bright idea to try and reach back into the collapsed timeline to resurrect the dead. Cuz that doesn’t sound like a shit show of epic proportions, and certainly isn’t likely to get you all killed by either causation or a resurrected Lord English. Or heck, one of the million Jacks.

“Yo,” your Bro says, like you haven’t finally put away mourning him or being fucking traumatized by him. He looks like you remember him, and there’s this moment of dizziness as you realise you’re the same height now.

In the background you can see the other guardians as well, with the Js greeting them in a much more exuberant way. Even Rose and Roxy are doing the sensitive thing and going in for like, weird cheek kisses with their respective Mom(s). You see Dirk circling the older version of you like some sort of hunting dog. The dude seems chill enough you guess.

“...yo,” you respond back after a moment or two, and Bro just kinda. Nods.

He’s never been the most vocal but this is awkward even for the two of you. You wonder if you want to punch him. Or hug him. You’re kinda leaning on the punching, honestly. God, what an abusive asshole this guy was to you, even if he was being all mind controlled like some sort of reverse puppet by Cal. But at the same time, you’ve got a sense memory of the last time you held him, when you were Davesprite and he was dying in your arms, and god you hate yourself for the relief you feel seeing him alive.

“Hey,” a voice says quietly, and the both of you turn to see Dirk and other Dave ambling over.

Dirk tilts his head at you without looking over at Bro and gives you a nod, as if to say; hey, things cool or should I bust out the totally not sexual bondage gear you pretend I don’t have and citizen arrest this dude’s ass.

You nod back, keep your arms open and relaxed in your pockets. Nah, s’good, you tell him with your body, you got this.

Out of everyone he’s the one that knows the most of what you feel about Bro, and you know part of him is still all fucked up and guilty about it, despite you telling him over and over that it wasn’t him. Maybe that will change now that you have the source of your trauma actually available and not like, dead.

“Sup,” other Dave says, nodding to both you and Bro.

And now there’s four Strider assholes standing in a circle like the world’s quietest circle jerk. You almost wish John would pull himself out of his Dad’s arms and be an insensitive asshole, and like, interrupt.

“So who’s the grey assholes,” other Dave says, nodding to where the trolls are still passed out. You blink. Yeah, you guess this guy has been out of the loop for a while. The only troll he’d seen would have been the Fish Bitch after all. You quickly glance over at Bro and watch his back tense tight enough to springboard off of.

Huh.

“Friends,” you say in response, nodding to where the newcomers are being watched over by Calliope and the Mayor. “The bigger ones are their ancestors or something, kinda like how someone was dumb enough to appearify your asses for some reason. No clue what their reactions are going to be, honestly, since their old fucked up planet was like, shit fucking stupidely violent.”

Other Dave raises an eyebrow at you over his glasses, and you refuse to feel embarrassed about that.

“I’m sure it will be fine!” And that’s Jade, pulling the others over with sheer personality. Plus the hand she has on John’s arm and Rose.

Suddenly the individual reunions merge into one big asshole party, and it’s way too loud. You feel Roxy’s arms as they knock you into Dirk, hugging you both like you’re both on the same level of best friendliness.

“Diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirk!” she yells into the both of your heads, but mostly into Dirk’s ear. “Dirk! Look who it is! Can you believe this, omg, omg omg.”

“Congrats, Rolal,” Dirk says, letting her ruffle his hair in her excitement. Both you and him are still keeping your eye on where Bro is nonchalantly standing, eyeing other Dave in a totally-cool-not-confused way.

The other Roxy turns away from her quiet conversation with Rose and steps forward. Bro shifts.

Immediately the Strilonde portion of the group quiets down, attention shifting as the other Roxy leans forward and daintily gives Bro a hug. Bro doesn’t return it, but also doesn’t try and kill her, which shocks you almost as much as the words that then follow.

“It is good to see you again, D-Stride,” she says pulling back, “Even if it’s a couple decades late.”

“Doc,” Bro responds with a nod, head tilting a little as his body turns more towards her. He brings a hand out and a captchacard appears in it. “Thanks for the loan.”

He hands her the card. Dave is even more confused.

“Woooahhh, you two knew each other?” And that’s Roxy, abandoning him and Dirk to crowd her other self.

“Of a sort. The game seems to have a habit of forcing certain dynamics on those connected to its eventual players. As guardians, we shared a connection. Most of the time we would be unaware of said connection, until some event would take place to remind us. On the personal side of things, D-Stride here was quite helpful with some of the technology SkaiaNet designed for you.”

Other Roxy turns back to Bro and takes the card.

“Will you be ok without it?”

“No Cal, no need,” Bro says with a shrug, and then just. Takes. His hat off. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him without it on. A Bro without a hat is like a moon without a sun. A DJ without gear. Apple without juice. You have no clue where your brain is going with this.

“Hmm, well if you change your mind let me know. It will be harder to produce here without a proper lab, but I can always make more if you need. Be careful with the withdrawal symptoms,” other Roxy says, smiling.

You blink. Dirk besides you blinks. You can hear John and Jade talking loudly to one of the Dad’s behind you. You can’t hear her but you do feel Rose’s keen eye on the situation no doubt coming to all sorts of conclusions.

Did other Roxy insinuate Bro’s on drugs? That she supplies them? That he takes them for Cal reasons? Is other Roxy a drug pusher? Is that why she’s always drunk? You’re brain keeps cycling.

Luckily (or unluckily, depending on how you look at it) that’s when you hear the groaning of a distinct troll kind. The attention shifts. You’re not the only one who quietly readies yourself for a fight, and you can see a few of the others gently usher the grandparents away. Senior English and Egbert go without much fuss, but Jade’s grandpa takes some convincing.

Damn, you think quietly, your group has just doubled. And you’re still not any closer to knowing why.

The groaning troll turns out to be Karkat, which, thank god. Despite his general flailing and shouting, he does tend to be able to keep the others in line. You extract yourself from the group before John can and amble over.

“Sup,” you say with all your pent up cool-kid energy, knowing it bugs the shit out of him. You hold a hand out.

“Shut your blistering wind-hole, Strider,” is his predictable response, as he reaches up to let you pull him to his feet. The moment he notices the other trolls—especially the bigger ones—is particularly delicious to your senses, because you get a full good minute of silence as he gapes.

His hand is still in yours, and you decide the irony of some bro hand-holding is worth the eyes of your friends and family. It’s ironic sincerity, or something.

“What in the absulute fuck,” Karkat deadpans, as flat as a Strider ever could. You mentally give him a good fist bump for the honour.

The bigger troll that’d fallen through with Karkat—the one with the same horns, if not a good three feet taller and bulkier—opens his eyes to slits and stares at the both of you. He’s got the craziest case of pink eye you’ve ever seen, if you substitute pink for fluorescent red.

Since it looks like Karkat is still rebooting, you take the whole interspecies diplomacy into your own hands give him a nod of greeting.

“You might want to wake up the others, we’re kinda in a time crunch,” you say, all nonchalant-like. You see the moment both of them notice what’s wrong with your surroundings, because they both curse at the exact same time.

The ground you’re all standing (or laying down on) is crumbling ever closer, but it is the broken spiderwebs of paradox space shattering in the sky that really makes the adrenaline pump. Lord English is dead, but your peace was short lived, it looks like.

“I thought we won!” Karkat yells as he skids to a stop over at Terezi and starts slapping her awake.

“We did,” and that’s Rose, coming over to attempt a much gentler wake up call for Kanaya. “It turns out we’ve been living in something like a loading screen for the past forty three years. Our true reward has just finished being created.”

“Oh, that makes so much sense. NOT! What are they doing here?” Karkat points at his slowly standing ancestor. You take the distraction to reach down and pinch Terezi’s nose. Predictably she wakes up immediately and tries to bite your fingers.

“Three minutes!” and that’s Jade. She’s already got the portal open and is being helped by Jake to usher the guardians through. Tellingly both Bro and other Dave are hanging back, watching the trolls warily. Control freaks. You ignore the reach around insult to yourself and help Terezi stand.

“What’s up, Cool Kid,” she says, head twisting this way and that as she smells the air. You valiantly refrain from comparing her to a dog and nudge her in the direction of Karkat, who is still sputtering at his ancestor.

Big Karkat is pulling Big Kanaya up and talking quietly to her. You ignore the tender moment and cast a glance around for anyone else. Big Terezi seems to be the last one to wake, but you leave that to the trolls to figure out. From what you know, she’s this badass lawyer/bounty hunter person that tried to kill Vriska’s ancestor at some point, but you have no clue how easy to negotiate with she’ll be.

You watch as John pulls the Mayor and PM through the portal and then it’s just you, Jade, your other self and Bro, Rose, and the trolls.

“If I may?” Big Karkat asks, kneeling down by big Terezi. His voice is deeper than you expected, with a bit of a rasp to it, but quiet. A lot quieter than Karkat’s.

“Two candy apples!” Terezi cries with delight, still sniffing the air. Karkat continues to sputter behind her, but seems to have things together enough to help her up and start pushing her to the portal.

“Two minutes!” Jade cries again. There’s a loud snapping sound from somewhere nearby as the planet you’re on crumbles further.

“C’mon dudes, got a party all ready and everything, you’ll miss all the cake,” you say, one eye on your bro and one eye on the trolls.

Big Karkat picks up the still sleeping Big Terezi and moves forward, seemingly unbothered by the idea of trusting a bunch of aliens and going through some weird pulsing black portal. Big Kanaya follows, and the rest of the gang a step behind.

You see the moment your bro makes his decision, and it turns out you still know him well enough, because no one else seems to notice him hang back. You don’t have time to try and argue with him, forty five seconds left until the portal closes, and you don’t really want to make another dead Dave to try and convince him otherwise. You don’t even have the time to determine your own feelings on his decision—at the end of the day you don’t have your closure yet, and part of you has missed him despite your complicated feelings.

You grab his arm and using your godtier strength, yeet him into the portal. Suck on that, asshole.

—

This new reality is pretty similar to your old reality, really. The only difference being that there’s an Earth here already, and an Alternia in the far far distance. Jade still has your planets all tucked up neat in her pocket, with all the denizens and carapacians safe and only a little shaken from the trip. You think about how weird that is—that Earth exists, but so do a bunch of genetic clones of your friends in planets the size of marbles.

That’s not the weirdest thing, though.

You find a comfy little spot in the universe, about half-way between both Earth and Alternia, and get everyone settled back in. Jade and Calliope rearranges the new solar system as they feel fit, while both Dirk, Roxy and other Roxy go ahead and start hacking into both planets systems to try and see what differences there are from your own timeline.

Nanna Egbert, Poppop, grandma English, and grandpa Harley quickly get to work rebuilding your respective homes on a small reclaimed planetoid Jade picks up. You already have your old homes, of course, but with all the newcomers it’s agreed that you should stick together for now. Especially while the new trolls are getting used to things—Redglare almost took the horn off of one of the new-made trolls, who was so confused by the aggressive greeting that he started to cry. Which of course set of Karkat, and anyways, long story short it was decided it would be better for everyone to separate from their respective planets for a bit.

At least Redglare seems to be a follower of big Karkat or something, which is a better outcome than if it was like, Gamzee who survived instead of Terezi.

The trolls have it rough, you can’t help but think. Only three survivors out of twelve, and the three newcomers are so disoriented and sad about losing their own friends that they’re not really helping. Or maybe they are? Shared grief? You’re not sure, big Karkat is a weird dude. Cool, but weird.

John and Jane make sure the actual running of the planets goes smoothly, having a lot of practice at this point with figuring out the right people to delegate to and how to deal with the myriad concerns of the different species. Rose helps, sometimes, but more often she’s with Terezi trying to scry for your next move.

Kanaya is busy making sure the Mother Grub is settled in, and has somehow wrangled Jake to help her.

Even other Dave and Rose are keeping busy, combing through the new universe’s media and history to try and tell if there’s any hint of the Batterwitch or a similar threat.

Which leaves you and your Bro.

You half expected him to fuck off and start back his smuppet thing, or transfer into full on DJ mode now that he doesn’t have to look after a preteen. But no, he settles in one of the shared houses that the grandparents build, seemingly content.

You don’t really pay attention those first couple weeks, except you totally do. You can’t help yourself, you’re aware of his every move no matter, tracking him with your whole body whenever you’re in the same room. He’s not in the common rooms often, but you see him enough that you catalogue the changes obsessively anyways.

He doesn’t wear the hats, but keeps the shades. No gloves, and you never see him with a sword in hand. No Cal, obviously, but even the few times you do see him with puppets it’s always mid-sewing of smuppets, nothing with strings. You catch him talking with other Roxy in the kitchen a few times, voice low and intimate. You catch him talking with other Dave a few times, although it mostly seems to be about future tech or pop culture. Him and the hacker trio get along, but he’s always careful to leave the room if you enter it while they’re working.

You ask Dirk about him sometimes, and it’s a conflicted mess of a topic, but they seem to not actively hate each other at least.

It’s so weird. He’s placid, almost docile. Sometimes you come across him zoned out on the couch, head tilted back, as if listening to some track only he can hear. Sometimes it’s like it is the Bro you remember, blank face and uncaring, except then the moment breaks and he’s moving slowly back to his room. He doesn’t flashstep anymore.

You wonder if this is the real him, or if this is just a lull before the storm. Maybe the resurrection broke him somehow.

You’re really distracted by him, honestly, that by the time the group meeting is called you’ve slacked off on all your duties and mostly just been inwardly panicking about living with your Bro again. Well, you’re living on opposite sides of a small planetoid, but same thing.

And then the topic of the group meeting hits, and you’re not thinking about him for a good long while.

—

“This here’s the closest image we got,” other Roxy—you should really just get into the habit of calling her Roxanne, that’s the name she’s using to differentiate the two—says.

On screen is a fuzzy silhouette of what looks like a large spaceship backlit by a star. It’s bracketed by two smaller ships, and just from the small amount of detail you can make out you can tell it’s Alternian in make.

“I was under the impression that without the influence of Doc Scratch Beforus would never have transformed into Alternia,” Kanaya muses, “but that appears to be rather large battleship.”

“From what we have gathered this current universe pulls information from the winners of the game. Since it was Alternian trolls who won, not Beforus trolls, that is the version that was templated,” Dirk answers.

The trolls all wince, or at least the ones you can see the eyes of do. You glance at Redglare out of the corner of your eye, but she seems preoccupied by glaring at the tablet Rose gave her.

“Poor bastards,” Karkat mumbles.

“It’s, um, well it’s really complicated but it explains why your guardians revived when they did! They couldn’t exist in this reality, but because they’re basically you, the game got confused! It tied your data structures together, so when your reward was created, they were too!” Calliope pipes up, smiling wide. You ignore the sharp, overly long teeth with experience.

“What we know so far!” Roxy continues, slapping a hand on the screen. “The timeline for the trolls is pretty similar, just minus some more horrible events. The Sufferer’s revolution was never attempted, but the Summoner’s was. Adults are still banned from homeworld, yaddy yadda. None of the surviving trolls here are alive, but it looks like trolls who died while playing the game are alive! Which is great! Except we have no idea what they remember. Which kinda sucks.”

“The Condesce doesn’t appear to be as obsessed with expansion as the previous universe. A series of pirate raids and neighbouring wars has kept her closer to home, so Earth is safe for now. The ships on the screen seem to be a scouting fleet on the far reaches of this system. They’re not close enough to be a problem, yet,” Dirk picks up.

“But close enough for us to be able to pick up a clear enough image for identification purposes. It would seem our work isn’t quite done yet,” Rose muses, placing her chin on her unoccupied hand. The other one is clasped in Kanaya’s tight grip.

“Well obviously we’ve got to check it out!” John says, standing up in excitement. “If the trolls are alive we should go say hi!”

“Yeah!” Jade pipes up.

You notice Jane and Jake look a little more conflicted, which makes sense. They never got close to any of the trolls, not in the same way, and for the most part they only saw the aftermath. Not very welcoming.

“Is that a good idea?” Dad Crocker asks, and there’s an awkward pause as people look from the depressed trolls to the excited John and Jade. You can even see a glint of interest in your Bro’s eyes, although you can’t think why he would be. You get the sense you might be inching closer to a decision of _meddling_. Considering Karkat and the Signless’ mullish looks, you’ll probably not be done for anything less than _revolution_.

This is going to be a long day.


	3. End of the World I guess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Homestuck time travel AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going through old wips and uploading them - this one never got very far because the homestuck timeline is already so complicated it actually hurt my head trying to figure out a time travel au

You’re doomed. Too little, too late, not enough time. Lord English is on your tail and you’re hemorrhaging friends left right and centre, whole bubbles bursting in a blink of an eye. At the end it’s just you eight—even the trolls are gone.

You’re out of options, out of time.

So you give yourself some.

—

The fraymotif needs all eight of you to work, and paradox space fights you every single step of the way there. Time travel and dimension hopping aren’t hard, really, but the game doesn’t like to give you anything easy. You can scratch it, reset it, but it always comes back swinging with twice the tragedy.

So you don’t. Fight it that is. First Time, frozen and soft feeling, malleable. Then Space, twinned together and dipping into the cracks, shifting you all a step to the left. Then Light, to find the right path and stay on course. Then Hope, to keep you through the night as the universe tears around you. Then Void, to bring something from nothing. Then Heart, to tear you down into the purest part of yourself, packaging yourselves up like neat little packets of code. Then Life, to make those packets breathing, human things.

And finally, Breath, to anchor all to the start. To breathe all the aspects back to where they belong, like the bellows to a fire.

—

Your name is John Egbert, and today is your thirteenth birthday. Although it has been thirteen years since you were first introduced into the world, it is only today that you will play a game that will decide the fate of the universe.

Knowing that your friends are in the same situation and time is a precious commodity you don’t have, you do the smart thing and head downstairs to give your Dad the biggest hug of his life. He is, of course, not there. Gone to get more baking supplies, which you now vaguely remember.

Feeling foolish and a little sad, you run back upstairs to message your friends. You trip on the last step and end up floating an inch or two above the floorboards, which tells you that you’ve somehow kept your godtier powers. You have no clue how that’s possible, but you honestly don’t care right now.

\--turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 16:13--

TG: hey so what sort of insane loot did you rake in today  
TG: wait no, sorry, transfer mid update  
TG: wow there’s hella dead daves up in here  
TG: like a circle jerk of dead daves all ready to get their gross doomed jizz on my bodacious bod  
TG: except substitute bod for brain  
EB: dave!!!!  
TG: sup  
EB: oh, you know, the end of the world!!!  
TG: yeah im making a memo right now  
TG: damn, where’s karkat when you need him  
TG: altho i guess pesterchum doesn’t really have the memo thing yet does it  
TG: that was a troll thing  
EB: there’s a group thing though isn’t there?  
TG: ye im on it

\--turntechGodhead [TG] created group END OF THE WORLD I GUESS and invited three (3) users--

\--ectoBiologist [EB] joined at 16:16--

\--tentacleTherapist [TT] joined at 16:16--

\--gardenGnostic [GG] joined at 16:16--

TG: there we go  
TT: Perfect.  
GG: hi! I know it’s been like only a couple minutes but I miss you all already :C  
EB: me too!  
EB: im glad we all made it  
TT: It would complicate things tremendously if only a few of us were able to cross  
TT: This success speaks well for the possibility of the Alpha timeline also transfering over  
EB: how can we tell? I mean, that universe hasn’t even been created yet and might not ever  
TG: you doubting my time powers john, is that what im hearing?  
GG: don’t worry! If we arrived safely they will too  
GG: the calculations me and dirk made, plus roxy’s program showed that as long as one set arrived the other would too!  
GG: hang on, I’ll set up the relay now  
TG: heck ye, lets get technical up in this business  
TT: We should also start preparing for the next part. The meteors won’t start until later today, but it will require a lot of work to have things set up properly. Are we still agreed on the plan?  
TG: whats not to agree on  
TG: fuck things up, save the day  
TG: thats all there is to it really  
TT: A gross oversimplification, but emotive  
TT: Fuck things up indeed  
TT: Jade, that means you’ll have to restrain yourself from prototyping your kernel with Bec. It would save us a lot of grief, and also would save the trolls from their fate  
GG: um  
GG: that might be easier said than done?  
EB: what, why?  
GG: well, i’m talking with roxy right now and it looks like some of the data we transferred over wasn’t just us  
GG: to make a stable loop and all, the trolls need to fail at the last moment  
GG: which means jack needs to show up just as theyre entering our session  
GG: but, well. obviously that hasn’t happened yet! It seems the game has kinda, patched us in, but it’s acting weird?  
GG: like, even if we dont make bec noir he’ll show up anyways as some sort of like, cache ghost  
EB: oh man what really??  
EB: thats some straight up bullshit  
TT: That is troubling. Does she know if it is simply the past that cannot be changed here? Or are we stuck in another dead loop  
TG: s’not dead, i can tell you that  
TG: and trust me i have a lot of experience with dead  
TG: feels more like when we newly scratched  
TG: all itchy and shit  
TT: Descriptive  
GG: sorry! dirk and roxy dont know exactly, but they agree that its not a dead session  
GG: there’s likely some really important stuff that is set in cache that will show up no matter what until we figure out how to clear it  
GG: roxy thinks she can even pull some of it out of cache, but only if its like  
GG: game related  
TT: So we may prototype your kernel with something else, preventing a current day Bec Noir  
TT: But we will not be able to prevent a ghost copy of Bec Noir from creating the circumstances that would bring about this universe  
TT: As a safety measure, presumably  
GG: that’s right!  
EB: then we do that! A ghost bec noir is at least easier to handle than the real thing  
EB: and it will save us a lot of trouble later  
EB: think of all the people we can save!  
TG: my bro  
TT: And John’s father and my mother  
TT: Yes, I agree that would be the ideal situation  
TT: In that case there is still some things we need to fix  
TT: First off. Dave, you will need to figure out a way of isolating Lil Cal  
TT: If he remains a corruptive influence on this part of the timeline, we’ll be back at the start again  
TG: on it already  
TG: i’ll have to knock out my bro but ive been looking forward to some cathartic pay back for a while now  
TG: you still ready to play taxi jade?  
GG: yes!  
GG: i’m sure you’ve noticed that we have our godtier powers still  
GG: that is because our data was literally replaced  
GG: i’ll be around to transport our guardians to the new session when it starts!  
EB: in the meantime i’ll start getting the servers set up  
EB: i only have the one computer though so we’ll have to get me set up, and then fabricate a bunch so i can run multiple servers  
TT: I would be glad to be your server host again, John. If we get started soon I will have enough time before the power outage and I am forced to move locations  
TT: It will also give me time to set up the next phase  
TG: kay, well i just heard bro get back in  
TG: so im gonna go give him a beat down before he starts trapping the crawl space again  
GG: good luck! be careful though, he’s human and you’re way op now  
TG: naw, sgood  
TG: i dont wanna kill him  
TG: much  
EB: im going to go get my sburb copy before dad gets back home! jade, before i leave, what do you want me to do with the stuff in dad’s car?  
GG: just break the lock, silly!  
GG: you wont need the bunny to show up miraculously in the future anymore, and it will be good to have the weapons at the start  
GG: not to mention the server copy!  
EB: roger  
EB: well, that will still have to wait until my dad gets home, but i can start the client side of stuff anyways  
EB: and then you’ll have to send the other copies over  
TT: I know you’re busy with things over on your end Jade, but it might also make it easier on you if you can patch in the relay to us as well  
TT: So we might coordinate with the Alpha session  
GG: sure! give me a sec 

\--gardenGnostic [GG] sent file UniverseRelayVersionOMEGA.ATH--

GG: just run that on whatever machine you’re going to be using most  
GG: careful though, it takes up a lot of power  
GG: ok im going to go get ready!  
GG: see you all soon 

**> Be the other guy**

You are now the other guy. You’re standing in your room, having pushed away from your computer like you’re a bandaid being pulled away from some gnarly cut, and you’re hesitating only a little.

You are going to give your brother the beat down of your life, and you are going to enjoy it at least a little. The dude messed you up.

You’re also probably going to cry and end up hugging him at some point, but you’re ignoring that impulse for now.

What do you do?

** > Use your unfair godtier powers to get the drop on your bro **

Is it unfair to use all your advantages on someone who’s technically baseline human? Doesn’t really matter, you do it anyways.

You slouch out of the room, nonchalant like, dodging smuppet ass and puppet strings as you go. Your bro isn’t in the living room or the kitchen, which you already knew. He’s around, you know, because despite his other abusive traits he never seemed to be able to leave you alone for long.

You head to the roof.

You don’t need to find him, after all. He’ll find you.

You make sure to captchalog the sburb beta on the way, of course. You also make sure to leave ‘Lil Cal where he is. You have a plan for that nightmare juju, but you’ve got time.

You’ve got nothing but time, really.

**> Pester your ecto-son-father while you wait for your other ecto-father-son to show up**

You lean against the railing and download the relay while you wait. Doesn’t take too long, at least, and your phone is thankfully charged enough that it should last you until you enter the game and can source some better gear.

Dirk is already messaging you, you notice, as you pull the program up.

**> Answer ecto-son-father**

\--timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at ??:??--

TT: I hear you’re going to deal with Beta-Me  
TT: Is that a good idea?  
TG: heck ye, what better way to get closure  
TG: show up looking like a scrawny 13yr old and just wreck his shit  
TG: let him get a good long dose of his own medicine  
TG: whats that I hear?  
TG: you want a second helping of embarrassment for getting kicked around by a 13yr old?  
TG: comin right up  
TT: And it will allow yourself to internalise that you have nothing to fear from him anymore  
TT: I understand the impulse  
TT: And don’t necessarily disagree  
TG: uhuh  
TG: why would you  
TG: its a great idea  
TT: However  
TG: ah shit here we go  
TT: I would remind you of how much of his actions were influenced by Cal  
TT: And though he doesn’t deserve your forgiveness or love  
TT: We’ll need him for phase two  
TG: im not going to kill him  
TG: why does everyone think im gonna kill him  
TT: Do you want me to answer that?  
TG: no  
TG: look  
TG: im not going to lie  
TG: the dude fucked me up good  
TG: i was fucking scared of him for so long  
TG: part of me does want to prove to myself that he’s just a dude  
TG: a shitty dude, but a dude  
TG: and by winning against him ill be able to let the fear go  
TG: but beta dave aint the only one here  
TT: What do you mean?  
TG: i mean theres a bitchin amount of dead daves up in this thing  
TG: and they all have different feelings about Bro depending on when they died  
TG: even got ol davesprite floating around  
TG: and he watched it happen  
TG: Bro’s death  
TG: and it fucked him up almost as much as the shitty strifes and the lack of care and the fucking puppets everywhere  
TG: so im not gonna kill him  
TG: im gonna knock him out and then chuck cal into the shittiest timeline  
TG: and then sic rose on him and let her mindfuck him into some semblance of human  
TT: I  
TT: That makes sense  
TT: I’m sorry if it sounds like I was doubting you  
TT: Part of me really was hoping you’d go through with it, and I suppose I was attempting to give both of us a way out  
TT: By talking about it now  
TG: dude I get it  
TG: you have some weird sort of self destructive hate on for your splinter selves  
TG: but ive already told you  
TG: you aren’t him, and youll never be him  
TG: besides i got a feeling that he’ll  
TG: wait hold that thought  
TG: he’s here  
TT: Dave?  
TG: yea?  
TT: Good luck.  
TG: shit son dont need no luck  
TG: 100% skill up in this business  
TG: but ye  
TG: thanks  
TG: brb

**> Be the other guy’s bro**

_You cannot be the other guy’s bro, on account of shenanigans. If you could, it would probably feel something like this:_

_Rolling, ripping, tearing sensation at your limbs, like exhaustion turned to the max. The feeling of oncoming doom set to tenfold, a cascade of beats in your head accompanying the scent of hot metal and blood. Today’s the day, the day you’ve been preparing him for more than a decade. You don’t know how you feel about it, so you don’t._

_The too-full feeling of having Cal wrapped around you, digging in hooks. Nothing left for you besides your goal, a clean cut. Get him in, make him the best. Keep him alive._

_Nothing else matters._

_Nothing else matters._

_Nothing else matters._

_Nothing else matters._

**> Stop. Rewind. Restart**

You are now Future Dave. You are watching as Past Dave and your Bro fight across the rooftop, clashing shitty swords against shitty swords. Past Dave isn’t showing his hand, yet, but it looks like Bro can tell something’s not up because he’s even more aggressive than usual. Maybe it’s just because it’s strange enough for you to initiate the strifes. Maybe he can tell something’s not right.

You wait for the perfect moment. You already know when it is of course. Past Dave already experienced it.

You count in your head, a steady metronome. Eventually it arrives, and you jump down straight from the electric tower you were hiding behind. Flashstep with a god’s power, and you’re behind him faster than he can notice. Or so you think.

The sun reflects off his shades as he turns towards you, but you’re faster. You’re faster, and you swing back with the pommel of your sword and knock him right in the base of the neck. He crumples, like a puppet without strings. You flinch.

‘Sup, says Past Dave.

Oh, you know, the end of the universe, you respond. Both of you fist bump, and then you reach down to pick up Lil Cal. You have a date with a volcano.

You don’t say goodbye. Would be pretty counterintuitive really, since he’s you and you’re him. You do give him a coolkid nod though. Least you can do for what he’s gonna have to deal with.

**> Switch to the dogtier kid**

You are now the dogtier kid. You’re standing in your bedroom talking with Roxy while your body sleeps. Dream Jade has some important things to do, like wake up the rest of your friends and send the Lil Cal on Derse into a black hole. But you’re not as good as Dirk is with the whole multitasking dream shenanigans thing, so you’re doing all that in between talking with your friends.

You’re maybe twenty minutes into reworking your computer so it can accept the data transfers Roxy is trying to send you, when a flash of green catches your attention.


	4. Space, Time, and Everything Nice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Outside POV of a non-canon post-game godtier civilization. Alternia is still alive and kicking the rest of the galaxy around, but not for long if the Skiaisphere has anything to say

You stumble across the signal a few solar sweeps away from base, limping away from a skirmish where you lost some of your best cavalreapers to some panworm’s idea of battle tactics and almost blew out the battery in an attempt to dodge the subsequent blast. It’s a technical victory, but not one you’re all too happy about.

Your General is the panworm with the brilliant ideas, by the way, and he’s still strutting about making your life difficult, even though you lost two skiffs to the battle and most of your ships are running at half power. Ignoring the lost trolls, you’re looking at probably a sweep of repairs when you dock again.

So you’re not really happy when the signal gets picked up by your navalarcenists, in a supposed dead zone that the empire has previously charted as empty and sans sentient life. It doesn’t even have any suitable resources for a hastily erected space hub. The system circles a temperamental sun much colder than Alternia’s, and the pseudo-planets that orbit comprise of weak strains of rock and ice.

At first you’re too far away to actually decipher the signal, but your General has the bright idea it’s an SOS that he can get a few more cull fantasies worked out on, and so you’re diverted from your course once again to check it out, despite the absolutely sordid state you’re fleet is in. Your General is a Seadweller, of course, and you are but a lowly Blue, so you keep your mouth shut.

You can see the tired look of your crew wilt even more at the news, and as acting Captain you should log an official complaint for the inevitable cull order that will come, but you honestly have enough platonic hate left in you for him that you decide to let him cut off his own gills. You’ll all probably die, but hey, you’d die by lodging a complaint anyways, and at least this way he’ll seem even more incompetent.

You limp through space for another cycle before the ship latches onto the signal with enough strength for it to become audible to your sensors. Except, of course, it’s not an SOS as suspected, and from the first couple words alone you know you’re going to need more than a good long sopor soak to get rid of this migraine. You can feel your crews attention shift from behind you, as the panel displaying your General flickers. One of the conneticles must be broken.

_Greetings those who enter the Skiaispehere! Greetings and neutral tidings. The Skiaisphere is a refuge to any seeking warranted asylum, equal trade, or services rendered. We, the free people of Derse and Prospit, and the allied planes of Consortium, do greet you, for whatever aspect has brought you into our calm waters. Your vessel has now been detected by the long range scanners. If you wish peaceful negotiation, please wait for an official broadcast from the Skiaisphere Ambassador. If you wish non-peaceful negotiation, please wait for your vessel to be properly disappearified into a neutral space of our choosing. Thank you. This message will now repeat._

You can hear your General sputtering and put on your best Indigo passivity face. When it looks like he is simply going to glub and flail, you turn to your second in command.

“Longeye! Prepare first contact protocols. Let the crew know, and get me a mindrazer on bridge before the sweep is over,” you drawl.

“Mercutiator! You step out of line,” the General snaps, righting himself in his seat. You blink at him placidly.

“I apologise, General Startide, I assumed it was unspoken that we should follow Imperial protocols in such a case, considering this so called Skiaisphere is unknown to our ranks.”

You can see he wants to slap you, platonically, for the presumption, but to argue now would make him look disloyal to the Imperial commands himself, and so he simply glares at you with his gills flared. You kind of want to bite them, and you lock that thought deep in your pan where it won’t get you culled.

“Of course, that’s without saying,” he snarls, “but it would do for you to remember who commands this fleet. Tell your crew to prepare for contact—your ship will act as point.”

His smile is smarmy and self-satisfied, and you can already read what he’s thinking. He figures you’ll screw up and live, where he can then call for your culling on basis of incompetence, or you’ll screw up and die. All while he’ll stay in his cushy Seadweller ship at the far edges of your fleet formation. What a bulge stain.

“Of course,” you agree, letting none of that show on your face.

Your crew is well disciplined, of course, so by the time the broadcast is picked up you’ve got your most visually intimidating trolls at their stations, uniforms pressed and clean of any alien blood remnants, and half your fleet is hanging back to watch the light show. You’ll do this nice and slow, introduce yourself, play nice, get as much information as possible before any culling orders come down. You know General Startide has already sent for it, anyways, so it shouldn’t be too long of a charade.

Longeye gives you a gesture and you straighten your bulk in your seat to give as much height as possible. You might not be as tall as a Violet blood, but you make do.

“Greetings and neutral tidings!” The alien that shows up on screen is vaguely troll-like, with the same assortment of limbs and facial features. Their skin is a weird desert-tan, and instead of horns you see a pair of what look like furred ears sticking straight out of a bushel of curly church-worthy hair. Their eyes are a bright, Jade-like green, which you note idly. You don’t recognise the species, but there’s a lot of aliens out there.

“I am Ambassador Jade Harley, and I welcome you to the Skiaisphere,” the alien continues. Their hands are clasped in front of them, relaxed, but it is the ears you watch. They’re flickering this way and that, in a way you’re having a hard time determining meaning to. Nervous? Eager?

“Captain Mercutiator and the crew of the Gallows,” you return, keeping your own limbs and face stoic. Behind you your crew is as silent as the grave, as they should be.

The alien grins, crinkling the corners of their strange eyes.

“And what brings you to our corner of space today, Captain?” they ask, still relaxed and comfortable despite the the amount of guns your ships have bristling along their helms. Then again, part of the fleet is hanging on with just a bit of grubtape and a prayer to the messiahs—you’re not at your best right now.

“We were following a signal we didn’t recognise,” you reply truthfully. No point in lying right now. “We were not aware that this system was occupied. None of our maps mark it as so.”

The alien nods thoughtfully.

“Ah, yes. We did set up in a bit of a hurry. The Skiaisphere is a collection of planets and peoples who have banded together in adversity to build something better than our past would have let us. As such we have chosen a patch of sky that we knew would be free and uncontested. It is only polite.”

You blink. Usually no one much cares about politeness when conquering solar systems, but then again, if they have set up as quickly as they implied, then it would be smart to find somewhere less likely to be discovered before defenses can be built. Why they bothered sending out a signal in that case, you don’t know.

“Your fleet looks to be in some distress,” the alien continues. “If you would consent, our engineers should be able to repair your ships, as well as offer supplies and relief. We have some experience with Alternian designs and specifications.”

Now that is worrisome, and you can feel some of your crew shift behind you. If they know of Alternia, and have not been conquered or culled, then you’re dealing with something a bit larger than just a wayward refugee colony.

You make a split decision that you know your general is going to hate. It might be because he will hate it that you make it, honestly.

“We would be glad of the assistance,” you reply, holding one of your hands up behind your back to signal your crew into action. You’re not really meant to be a reconnaissance ship—but you’re the best positioned in the fleet to make the attempt.


End file.
